


Practice Makes Perfect

by Cherry_Pye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Sam - Freeform, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Teen Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Pye/pseuds/Cherry_Pye
Summary: Dean offers to give teenaged Sam some kissing tips, and needless to say...the whole thing spirals into something else entirely pretty quickly.





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Two chapters total, the second coming soon! Previously posted on Tumblr but I’m changing it a bit here.

“Why so mopey?” Dean teased, flashing Sam his brightest smile and sliding in next to his little brother on the small, beaten-up couch, “You still pissed at me for missing our date last night, gorgeous?”

Sam sighed over-dramatically at that, crossing his arms over his chest but still blushing a deep shade of pink that he tried unsuccessfully to hide with a duck of his head at Dean’s choice phrasing.

Sam blushed more often than he didn’t these days around Dean, even when he was pissed off, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it probably a little (or a lot) too much.

“Maybe I am,” Sam mumbled in a quiet voice, looking down at his lap and interrupting Dean’s train of thought, “But I know what you were off _doing_ -”

He gestured out the window sullenly.

“-I saw you kissing her out there before you brought her back to…wherever, and why’d-…why’d you…why’d you even bring her here, anyway?”

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair but privately feeling a warm tickle in his stomach at Sam’s poorly-concealed jealousy.

“Jeez, I just needed my wallet,” he said in mock-exasperation, massaging gently into Sam’s scalp and not missing his brother’s unconscious lean into the touch, “-I called for you when I came in, you know, didn’t you hear? I just wanted to get her some breakfast. I mean...had to at least pretend to be a gentleman and all.”

Sam exhaled loudly in clear annoyance, swatting Dean’s fingers from his head before re-crossing his arms tightly, defensively, which tugged the corners of Dean’s mouth into a worried frown.

Sam might actually be mad at him…

“No, I DON’T know,” Sam snapped, heeling himself sideways on the couch by a couple of inches and continuing to determinedly avoid Dean’s gaze, “But, whatever, it’s…it’s fine.”

Dean furrowed his brow, searching for the right thing to say to show Sam that it was just…it was just some girl, like always, that it was meaningless, that he was where he wanted to be right now and that he was…that he was sorry for missing the time he and Sammy had planned for just the two of them.

He actually really, really was…

“Well I mean…” he started, his voice cracking a little and his foot starting up in a nervous tap on the floor, “Haven’t you ever…I mean, you’ll get it, at some point…it’s just, I don’t know, what-you…haven’t you ever done anything, with a…”

He trailed off, feeling suddenly wildly uncomfortable and no longer at all sure why he was even asking that question specifically (trying to ask it, anyway) or what it had to do with anything, and Sam huffed through pursed lips in response, pressing a palm tightly over his eyes in obvious embarrassment.

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?” he mumbled on cue, cracking his fingers open ever-so-slightly to peer surreptitiously out at Dean, “-and no, not that it’s any of your business, but not really…not…not a lot. Not like you do it.”

It was Dean’s turn to flush red at the thought of Sam watching him making out with some girl, but-

Oh.

Well, if that’s what was going on-

“Hey, look, why don’t I…uh, I don’t know, show you some things?” he offered, immediately hearing the connotation behind his poorly-chosen words and biting the sides of his tongue hard enough to taste copper as Sam blatantly seized up next to him, swiftly dropping his hand from his eyes to the couch and staring, speechless, up at Dean.

“I mean-I…I _mean_ …I could…give you some pointers,” Dean hastily clarified, but he had already seen Sam’s thoughts practically etched into every curve of his face, had seen his immediate, not-at-all subtle reaction…

Dean shifted his weight, acutely honing in on the sudden stillness between the two of them and wondering if he should get up, if he should just walk away…knowing even as he thought it that he wasn’t going to and that ‘shoulds’ had very little, if anything, to do with it.

Besides, he’d been aware of this…thing, whatever it was…for some time now, maybe even for the whole time.

He knew that things weren’t normal between him and Sammy, that they didn’t…act the way brothers were supposed to act, at least when they were alone together, and that he didn’t think about Sam the way he was supposed to and that Sam certainly didn’t think about _him_ the way he was supposed to…

Sam didn’t even try to hide that fact from Dean most of the time.

And Dean couldn’t seem to change it or scrub it away or even properly bury it no matter how hard he tried (not that he tried very hard, if he was being honest with himself), but…he wasn’t gonna act on any of it.

He wouldn’t…you know, he’d never actually-

Blinking slowly and realizing that he needed to say or do something, he forced what he hoped looked like a casual enough smile onto his face and cocked his head in Sam’s direction, wetting his dry lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

“Or, it’s fine of course if you don’t want me to-”

Sam nodded urgently, cutting Dean off, his big eyes plastered onto Dean’s face and his fingers pushing into the cushion by his sides as he blurted out a high-pitched stutter of, “I do, I mean…yeah, I-I…do,” followed by a shallow, breathy sound that pricked an icy-hot shiver up the stretch of Dean’s spine as he angled his body toward his brother, deciding to just…do it, to just do it.

Heck, the kid clearly needed some expert assistance in that area, and…who was more of an expert than he was, right?

“So, check it out,” Dean began, folding up one hand into a loose, semi-open fist and turning it so that Sam could see the space between his thumb and forefinger, “-this is how I practiced kissing once upon a time, and it’s not perfect, but it gets the job done, plus…you have me to show you, so…”

He let the rest of the sentence fade, his focus landing on Sam’s tongue as it flicked out to push impatiently at his lips in a way that seemed to make Dean’s entire abdomen heat up by several degrees, his stomach knotting for a moment and a feeling of dizzy euphoria sparking hazily at the insides of his head.

“So, uh, you start out simple,” he managed to continue in a low voice as he moved in to press his lips to his hand, easing back again to add “-and the angle is important…like, you wanna make sure you’re not bumping together in all the wrong places, and I guess…just watch me, and we’ll…we can go from there.”

He put on a show of provocatively rubbing his lower lip across the bottom side of his forefinger, urging in fully then and softly kissing the makeshift mouth part of his fist while pivoting his head so that he wouldn’t obscure Sam’s view.

He felt more than a little lightheaded by the entire surreal experience as Sam made a barely-there sound that was almost a groan…biting down on it and muffling the tiny noise but not looking away, not trying to turn it into a joke the way they so often did these days when things got…intense between them.

Sam blatantly leaned in with his whole body when Dean added his tongue to the demonstration, keening way, way into Dean’s space with huge pupils and triggering an immediate hot rush of blood to Dean’s cock that he had to pinch his eyes tightly shut against, mentally talking himself down from _that_ potential catastrophe and shifting his attention back to distracting Sam from his earlier anger…which was, without a doubt, working.

Some unknown amount of time later, he finally pulled back, breathing more heavily than he knew he had any excuse for and dragging his spit-slick hand down the front of his shirt to at least partially dry it.

Sam was still just watching silently, his mouth open around little, irregular breaths and a throw pillow from the couch half tugged over his lap, which meant…maybe-

Fucking…fuck-

“Now-now…you, you can…try,” Dean stammered softly, wondering in sudden alarm if he could even handle watching that, and Sam shyly averted his eyes again in response, only this time with a pretty smile pulling at the edges of his mouth that Dean felt utterly captivated by, the air stilling completely in his lungs for a long moment before he finally inhaled noisily, shifting his weight again on the couch and watching helplessly as Sam sucked his lower lip hotly between his teeth.

“Yeah…okay,” Sam finally offered in barely more than a whisper, and before Dean could process what was happening, Sam was reaching for Dean’s hand where he had it splayed over his thigh and was lifting it…bunching it into the same loose fist Dean had just unraveled it from and trailing soft stripes down Dean’s knuckles with his thumbs while Dean just floundered in silent surprise.

Oh god. Sam thought he’d meant-

And he was actually doing it…was he… _was_ he actually going to do it?

Dean futilely tried to stop the gravelly noise that vibrated outward from his chest as Sam lowered his head to connect his mouth with Dean’s still-moist skin, pivoting with his neck to mimic Dean’s earlier angle and brushing up against Dean’s arm with his cheek, his tongue urging already into Dean’s fist with searching little in-and-out thrusts that were deeper and dirtier with each new movement and-

Sam suddenly whimpered, a real whimper that he didn’t even partially try to hold back or hide, and…just like that, Dean was fully, painfully hard.

Not just hard…

He was-…jesus christ…

Sam might as well have been licking his cock directly, that’s how hard he was, and-fuck-

Dean’s entire body surged with electric pricks of white-hot arousal as he desperately tried, too late, to abort the mental image of Sam sucking him off, his lungs burning through a pant of an inhale as he curled forward hastily at his waist, knowing that he absolutely needed to hide his current…state…but unable to figure out how to go about it without giving himself away in the process.

And Sam was scrambling his socked-feet against the floor to shove even more thoroughly into Dean’s space, both of his hands jerking up to cup Dean’s fist as he practically tongue-fucked Dean’s palm with constantly flickering lids, his eyes repeatedly rolling halfway back and then down to Dean’s clenched fingers and then back again in a way that was just… _fuck_ …so obscene somehow, dirtier on some base level than anything Dean had ever seen.

He was no longer sure he wouldn’t actually black out before the end of this.

Either that or cum untouched in his pants.

Maybe both…

He knew that Sam could surely tell how severely this was affecting him…knew that he was sucking in air like he’d just finished a damn triathlon, that his muscles were twitching and tightening convulsively wherever Sam was pressed up against him, that his heart was hammering faster and louder than a fucking snare drum, but he’d apparently lost all control over his own body, and Sam wasn’t reigning himself in any better…

With a frantic whine of Dean’s name, Sam suddenly pulled away with a wet smack, trembling everywhere and collapsing his face into Dean’s shoulder like he was suddenly losing it completely, like he was coming unwound at every seam, and Dean instinctively cupped a protective hand to the back of his brother’s head with a tangled jumble of thoughts all vying for space in his mind as he desperately struggled to find the right combination of things to say in response to the monumentally inappropriate thing that had just gone down between the two of them.

“I-I…I didn’t mean…you,” he stammered, wondering again if he should stand up, if he should just walk away, but Sam nestled even more firmly into him before Dean could even properly debate the idea, hot breath burning into Dean’s skin through the sleeve of his shirt and one of Sam’s hands grabbing for the fabric of the cushion beneath him again to fist it tightly between clenched fingers.

“I know what-…you meant,” he finally murmured into the sweat-damp crook of Dean’s shoulder, pressing his lips to Dean’s skin between the ‘what’ and the ‘you’ and following it with some breathy word that had too many vowels but that sounded a bit like it might have been Dean’s name before adding on a muffled, “I, uh, I’m-I’m…sorry. I just-I shouldn’t ‘a-”

“-don’t,” Dean interrupted with an urgent squeeze over the back of Sam’s head, “-don’t…say that. I mean, you don’t have to say…you’re sorry-…it’s not, it’s, it’s okay. It’s okay, Sammy.”

Truthfully, the whole thing was pretty far from okay…

But Dean’s only concern in that particular moment was making sure that Sammy wasn’t about to start blaming himself for the way things were between them…for the fact that the truth about whatever it was had now been dragged out into the open on a whole new level that neither of them were prepared for.

Not that it _hadn’t_ been Sammy’s…uh…whole thing that had dragged it out into the open, but…none of it would’ve even happened at all if Dean hadn’t initiated ‘kissing lessons’ in the first place.

Jesus.

What the _fuck_ had he been thinking?


End file.
